


Beyond the Mockingverse

by MsMockingbird



Series: The Mockingverse [21]
Category: Avengers (Marvel), Black Panther (Marvel) - Fandom, Mockingbird (Marvel) - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2018-11-12 17:58:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11167089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsMockingbird/pseuds/MsMockingbird
Summary: This is an open ended collection of short works about Mockingbird and the Avengers. These are tiny things that aren't full stories, AU Mockingbird stories and other assorted things.Chapter titles will indicate what's coming up. Could be almost anything.May never be finished, not all chapters are Mockingverse 'canon'.Orphaned works are unconnected to any particular story but exist as part of the untold continuity of the Mockingverse.





	1. In honor of the first Black Panther trailer (Orphan; Mockingverse; Canon)

Through the grassy veldt, a woman ran. 

She ran fast, her steps firm and strong but she was slowing visibly and audibly every few moments. Some injury hampered her gait; dark wet drops stained the tips of the grasses in her wake. 

In the sweet velvet night, the ears and noses of predators perked up. Faltering steps and blood. Something ran to ground tonight. 

Still, the woman ran through the night with seamless precision, dodging burrows and mounds and roots as though she had eyes beyond a human's.

She ran because her life was precious not to her but others, a laughing blond man with long arms, a woman with hair like flame, another man, gold and blue like the sky. A force of nature; a winged man. A damaged creature not wholly flesh anymore. A man as brilliant as he was broken. A god. She ran that they would not grieve. 

She ran because if she stopped the men and women and things that ghosted along behind her might take a moment to pause, to look around, and in that moment might see the shadow cast over a dry watering hole. A shadow of technology and magic both, that guarded a hundred lives. Children huddled weeping and afraid with only a shadow to guard them. That shadow had preserved her life time and time again and she gave it willingly, with joy. The shadow to preserve them.

A shadow, and a running woman. 

She ran because she was prey and that was the purpose of prey. To run. 

The world ended before her, the grass turning to dirt and then empty air and she still ran, faster now, great powerful strides towards oblivion.

The world ended and the running woman ran no more.

She flew.

The air, warm and cool and spiced with scents of strange animals, strange plants, wet with moisture, slammed into her face. She spread her arms and flew, graceful as a mockingbird.

Behind her came the hunters, with ropes and pincers and metal arms that gripped and held the rock of the cliff. Some took to the air in her wake and she laughed, gaily, a great happy noise reverberating off the rocks and falling water.

She folded her arms before her, like the point of an arrow and let the great pool claim her body.

There was pain and no air but she arced unerringly in her curve that broke the surface. Arms flung out in strong strokes and then she was scrabbling at sand and there was a great boulder, thirty feet tall, at her back.

They came to her there, the Reavers, their flesh as twisted as their souls, their eyes glinting like dead things in the starlight. They came to her, a multitude against one woman who crumpled bleeding against a chunk of granite older than her nation. They came to kill her, as they would have killed those children.

Facing violent painful death, the woman laughed.

“You crossed,” she said aloud, blood on her lips now. “You crossed.”

“What,” drawled the leader, blond and tall and evil, “we crossed you, Ave—?”

On the top of the boulder silver eyes gleamed.

“You crossed the border,” the woman crowed, laughing hysterically. “Welcome to Wakanda.”

Above her head a king and warrior passed judgment on these murderous creatures.

From her vantage, sagging against the stone, the woman saw the battle as a single mobile figure moving amongst statues. She wept at its grace and speed and power, sinking slowly to the sand. 

In a whirlwind of righteous violence, the Reavers died.

When the last body fell and the night was still around her the woman let herself sit and clutch at her side, where the bullets had eventually worn away her armor enough to injure her. Her hands were wet with blood in moments.

He paced through the sand and corpses towards her now, each step measured and stately, as befit both monarch and hunting cat. 

She tried to bow from the waist, flubbing it, and then the urgency of her flight caught up with her.

“Your highness. The children—”

“Be at peace, kingsfriend. My Dora Milajae have them well in hand. Three of them are of Wakanda, coming back from a school trip. My nation owes you a debt.” 

His voice was deep and soothing, warm and rich with his beautiful accented English.

“Be at peace,” he repeated. “You are safe now, honest warrior.”

Safe.

The woman slid into unconsciousness.

Held in the claws of the Black Panther, no harm could come.


	2. Sonambulist (Mockingverse; Canon; Orphan; Mature to semi explict)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a heroic rescue, the Bartons fall asleep fully clothed.
> 
> Neither of them stay that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I figure stuff like this is what the Avengers do when they aren't saving the world, or doing charity work, or training. They are something of a magnificent quick-reaction squad for disasters after all.

Clint ripped his breath mask off, convulsing with the need for air. He knew, intellectually, that the precise mix of oxygen and other gasses in the flat tanks strapped to his back was easier to breath than the spray filled, ice specked air around him but his lungs screamed that he could not get them FULL with that mask on. He drew in a huge ragged gulp of the sea-scented air, then mechanically started putting his mask back on. Even in the heated dry suit he was freezing cold. 

The whole team had been mostly under the frigid Atllantic water for hours now--it had been day when they went down and it was day again when he'd come up this time. They had been called by the Coast Guard, advised a huge ocean liner had been holed and capsized, with hundreds of people trapped below deck in rapidly diminishing pockets of air. The entire team, Jemma and Leo, Sharon and Hill had suited up. While Jane and Hill coordinated the logistics of the search, Leo and Jemma had sent the submersible drones down to start mapping the wreck. The rest of them went into the water. Clint had seen both Steve and Bucky hesitate for a moment, fear in their eyes, and then they were under freezing water with the rest. 

It had been hell. Hulk and Thor had to take turns physically holding the vessel still, wobbling in the mud of the thankfully relatively shallow oceanic shelf, with help from Iron Man. The rest had gone in groups, bringing breathing apparatus, rescue gear. Hours and hours in the dark, cramped, shifting vessel, dragging terrified and injured people into the open, getting them to the surface, diving back under. Sometimes bringing out corpses, limp and still. Steve had surfaced with three children in his arms who had panicked and pulled off their masks. 

One of them had died. 

Steve actually staggered and fell to his knees when that happened, then hauled himself back up and dived under again. Bobbi or Natasha -- as the smallest of the group -- had to crawl under and through wreckage to check for surviors. Twice supporting beams had collapsed and for fifteen heart stopping minutes every male Avenger but for Hulk was ripping debris and plates of metal off a bulkhead that was about it give under the weight. They found Bobbi, Natasha and a pregnant woman in borrowed breathing gear huddled together, the only thing keeping the metal from crushing them Bobbi's combat batons making a wedge. Clint’s vision had greyed out. Hyperventilating in a breath mask was bad news. But once free they got the woman out and came back down, without even talking about it. 

A small hand touched Clint's arm. "Hawkeye? Hawkeye? It's over. It's done. We have the passenger and crew list, everyone is accounted for. You don't have to go down. Hawkeye. Hawkeye." Jemma Simmons kept repeating the information till it got through to him and Clint staggered back against a wall. He looked around the deck. He was on the Canadian Coast Guard vessel. The deck was positively littered with Avengers. Banner was shaking so hard Hill had refused to hand him the steaming cup she was holding. Bucky was down on his knees, vomiting sea water and bile, Natasha doing the same next to him. Thor was sitting on the deck with his head down, Mjolnir between his feet. Tony, his face mask up and blood crusted on his nose and mouth, was supporting Sam, his eyes rolling back and knees giving out with exhaustion. They gave the impression the only thing holding them up was the armor's hydraulics. 

Steve and Bobbi were huddled against the wall just to his right, out of the sight of the rest of the team, the super soldier's arms around the stick-fighter, his face buried on her shoulder. Dully, Clint realized they were both weeping. Sharon appeared at his side, nodding in their direction. "It's a sibling thing." 

The Avenging Archer and Agent 13 turned their backs on their partners, giving them the privacy they needed. "I know," murmured Hawkeye. "Sometimes they can't be weak around us." 

"Weak," Sharon said thoughtfully. "There are hundreds of people alive on that boat over there solely and only because of all of you. If there's a molecule of blood sugar left amongst you I'd be surprised. But crying over it is weak?" 

Clint snorted and nearly passed out from the effort. When he came back to himself Sharon was clutching his arm, smiling at him. Behind him he heard Steve clear his throat. "We're decent," he rasped, sounding raw and exhausted. "Sorry for borrowing your wife there, Clint." 

"Sorry about borrowing your *cough*buddy, Sharon," Bobbi retorted, her voice so faint she sounded like she was whispering. She slithered into Clint's embrace, while Steve was gently bussing Sharon's forehead. 

"How'er we getting home?" Clint muttered. They'd left the quinjet in New York. 

On the deck, Tony called out, not looking at anyone in particular. 

"Vindicator just called, offered us rooms at an Alpha Flight compound outside of St John's. Stark Industries helped build the place, it's pretty nice. I said yes. Coast Guard can dock there too. I'm going to pass out now so over to you, Jarvis." 

***** 

Clint nudged the door to the small apartment on the top floor of the Alpha Flight guest quarters building. The lights came up automatically, revealing a comfortable studio apartment with a small kitchen. Bobbi dropped their kit in the middle of the floor and staggered to the bed, passing out fully clothed. Clint staggered to the bed himself, put his hand on her boot... 

...and woke up to full darkness outside the windows, lying partially off the bed next to Bobbi. His lower back ached, as did his bladder. Plodding like an old man he made his way to the bathroom, shedding bits and pieces of clothing as he went. He wound up turning on the shower so hot it nearly blistered him and stood under it for a few minutes. The smell when they had all stripped off their dry suits had been foul, fear sweat and stress. They'd all showered on board but he still felt unclean. 

Opening the door to the bathroom in a puff of steam and soap scented air, he reached over to turn out the light. 

His eyes caught motion from the bed before he could. 

Bobbi, her eyes still closed and her mouth slack, was slowly inching her arms out of her jacket. As he watched she shrugged it off and rolled over a little. One foot then the other shoved awkwardly at her boots, falling with a clunk to the floor. But she never opened her eyes and Clint knew what she looked like when she was deeply asleep. He'd lain awake watching her hundreds of nights, studying the play of shadow on her face, the little twitches of her dreaming. 

Mesmerized he leaned on the door jam, staring. 

Her hands, nails chipped and one cracked in half, rubbed at her stomach and slowly began tugging her t shirt up over her abs. 

Clint held his breath. 

Her fingers twisted in the cloth, jerking and pulling. The left side rode up higher, till he could see the under curve of that breast, over the stark lines of her ribs. Despite his bone deep exhaustion, Clint felt his cock twitch and start to harden. Bobbi squirmed her hips now, her hands leaving the teasing promise of her chest still swathed in fabric. She had changed into sweatpants once she was out of her drysuit, needing the looser fabric and comfort to keep herself sane she'd said. Now her palms scraped at the elastic waistband of the pants until the edge rolled over itself. 

He wanted to leap over to her, pull the grey fabric off in one motion. He imagined ripping off her panties -- he could snap the seams of even a sturdy pair like dried pasta -- and burying his face in the moist folds of her labia. The sweet salt of her coating his mouth, banishing the taste of rubber and metal that still lingered from the re-breather. Stroking his tongue along each crevasse, the skin hot and slick. His lips closing over her clit, sucking and pulling as the sound of her moaning blotted out every bad thing that had ever happened to him... 

But then he'd be missing this show and he felt like recording it to watch over and over. 

Bobbi, still unconscious, rolled over slightly, away from him. Still framed in the light from the bathroom, his shadow falling over her feet, she bucked her hips a little and the waist of the sweatpants edged down past the curve of her hip, like a carpet unrolling in slow motion. She scrabbled at her leg like a kitten batting at a ball of yarn, little delicate motions. Clint took two steps into the room until he could see her face again. Her eyes were still shut and he would bet money she was fast asleep. 

A smile curved her mouth into a cupid's bow and a little laugh puffed out. Then a noise that his melted brain took some time to process. 

_Clint,_ she'd whispered, her smile warm and sweet. And her hand strayed under the waist of her pants. 

Clint moaned, louder than he intended, then stared at her in fear. But she didn't wake up. 

Her lower clothing seemed to irritate her and she began to tug it off a little harder, one hand still splayed across her crotch. One foot, missing two toenails from the abuse she'd suffered at Slade's hands, bent at the knee and her toes clenched in the fabric on the other leg. Fitfully, her hands and feet jerked at the pant leg, each nearly undoing the work of the other. 

Clint couldn't breath properly, his lungs taking little gasps sips of air. This was _agony_. 

He wouldn't have stopped it for the world. 

She rolled again, away from him, so he had the world's best view of her magnificent backside being slowly revealed as the sweatpants were finally worked down over her thigh on one side. He'd forgotten she wasn't wearing underwear. There was no part of her body that didn't fill him with immense pleasure but he was, in the great scheme of things, pretty firmly in the "butt and leg man" territory. So the curved ledge of her hip rising above the smooth firm flesh of her ass cheek was like a waterslide to heaven for him. She freed her top leg from the cotton and flopped over onto her back again, sighing, still asleep. 

Now he could see the tangled golden hair of her bush, trimmed and neat. She'd offered to go Brazilian for him and he'd vehemently vetoed the idea. He had no desire to make love to someone who looked like a prepubescent. He adored her woman's body, scents and hair and curves and wrinkles and scars and all. 

With one leg free, she worked the other off much faster, the fabric twisted and kicked until it flew a few feet away and hung off the edge of the kitchen counter. 

That just about did him in. He vibrated against the doorframe, desperately controlling his urge to leap onto the bed like a flying squirrel. 

What stopped him was knowing he'd frighten her. She'd be fine once she woke up all the way but if he touched her now he knew from experience she'd start to scream and go in full fight or flight mode. He had to wait till she woke up on her own. 

As tortures went, watching his beautiful wife sleep strip was on the more pleasant end of the spectrum. 

Her hands went back up now, till she had cupped her own breast in one palm. That smile flitted across her lips again, her throat working again, though this time he didn’t actually hear his name. Then her unoccupied hand carved a path from her chest to her crotch, rubbing and stroking. Her thighs squeezed and she arched her back, her breasts finally popping out from under the fabric like party favours.

Clint supposed if he screamed right then it would at least serve to wake her up. It just might also wake up Cap next door and then the door would get kicked in and so many awkward questions…

She turned away from him again and he felt like he might have to cry, despite her bum. Then she rolled all the way onto her stomach and her knees came up and _oh, god her hips were flexing it was not sane to be jealous of dream-Clint who was getting some sweet sweet doggy style action right now—_

Her tshirt rode up further, against her mouth and her gasping lips caught the fabric.

Bobbi’s eyes flew open and she fell onto her side with a thud.

She caught his gaze, going from sleep-muddled to aware in a few breaths. She looked down at her mostly naked self. 

“Was this me or did you help?”

Clint opened his hands. “All you. I was terrified of touching you.”

Her gaze drifted to his erection.

“Oh, that, little bird, was also all you. You seemed to be having some fun there. Without me,” he pouted at her theatrically. 

She blinked at him. “My t-shirt tastes like stale sweat and rancid coffee.” 

“I’m…sorry?” He studied her warily. Either she was still half-asleep or planning something. He knew what non-sequiturs meant with her. 

“S’what woke me up. But my arms are too weak to get it off now,” she said, flopping equally theatrically onto her back and making a little T-Rex gesture with her hands. 

“If I might assist you?” He said, advancing towards the bed. 

“Well, if you won’t maybe dream-Clint will,” she said in a sad voice. “He was pretty vigorous.” 

“Yeah, but you can’t rely on that guy,” Clint said, slowly working the fabric the rest of the way up her throat, over her face, and up her limp arms. He was sideways on the bed to her, one long arm over her torso just below her breasts. Her face emerged from under the stained white cotton with the wickedest smile he’d seen on her in a long time. 

“Yeah, he’s a total jerk,” she whispered, then licked the inside of his elbow and blew on the wet spot.

Clint fell across her, shuddering. 

“I’ll just make do with you, my hawk,” he heard her whispering in his ear.

They did wake up Steve as it turned out.

Sharon thanked them for it the next morning.


	3. Texts From Avengers Part 1 -- Sharon and Bobbi (Mockingverse, Canon, Orphan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The History of the Bartons Wedding Anniversary

**_Text Message Exchange, one week before the Barton's wedding anniversary_ **

Sharon: Bobbi? Free?

Bobbi: Wha's up homeslice?

Sharon: .... 

Sharon: Did you suddenly develop a posse?

Bobbi: Yeah, your boyfriend

Sharon: I knew that already. He's less your posse than your willing victim though

Bobbi: No, that's Clint. I'm getting Steve and Bucky matching jackets that say "Bobbi's Bitches"

Sharon: ... 

Sharon: You're sitting next to him, aren't you?

Bobbi: Between them both on the Quinjet actually and I know you're reading over my shoulder Barnes...I dare you to read this all aloud to St

Bobbi: Okay, he stopped.

Sharon: I was wondering if you wanted me to plan a party. Bruce just told me it was your tenth wedding anniversary next week

Bobbi: NO

Sharon: It's not?

Bobbi: It is the Day-That-Must-Not-Be-Named

Sharon: ....

Sharon: ....

Sharon: Dare I ask why?

Bobbi: There's a list

Sharon: And?

Bobbi: It's a long list

Sharon: Try me

Bobbi: Year by year, this is what's happened on our anniversary:

Bobbi: 1 -- I was in a coma from a head shot

Bobbi: 2 -- We got sold in Madripoor

Bobbi: 3 -- Magneto showed up and the team nearly got into a war with the X-Men

Sharon: Why have I never heard of that one?

Bobbi: Got them out of the city and into the middle of the ocean before the punching started

Bobbi: 4 -- We were targeted and kidnapped by a psionic serial killer who liked to make celebrating couples kill each other with BDSM sex

Sharon: ...

Sharon: I know why I've never heard of that one. I don't know Steve could even say those words without dying of blushing

Sharon: What happened?

Bobbi: He had Kilgrave-like powers so he had to give specific verbal orders. 

Bobbi: Gave one that was vague enough that Clint could interpret it as "Let her go"

Bobbi: And he hadn't ordered me NOT to punch him in the throat

Bobbi: Hard to speak with a crushed windpipe

Bobbi: Going on

Bobbi: 5 -- Relatively sane, except that three different ninja clans showed up in Hell's Kitchen trying to skin Daredevil alive

Bobbi: 6 -- Justin fucking Hammer fucking hired the fucking Five Rings assholes to fucking blow up the fucking Tower and we can't fucking prove it

Bobbi: Hang on

Bobbi: Barnes got an eyeful and he's having a meltdown

Sharon: Is everything okay?

Bobbi: Yeah, he's laughing but it's freaking Steve out

Bobbi: Okay, back

Bobbi: 7--in space

Bobbi: 8--Sex pollen

Sharon: THAT WAS YOUR ANNIVERSARY?

Bobbi: Yup

Sharon: ...

Sharon: ...

Sharon: ...

Sharon: That one was okay though

Bobbi: Bruce was not having a good time, but other than that, yes that one was okay

Bobbi: 9--Last year we flew to different cities without telling each other where we were and locked ourselves in hotel rooms 

Bobbi: I binge watched TV and killed a bottle of wine. He played video games and drank beer

Bobbi: It was...fine

Bobbi: Nothing else happened

Bobbi: We're planning to do that again

Sharon: With the lives you lead, I have to think any day of the year might have the same kind of issues

Bobbi: Ask Jarvis to run the stats for you. Go ahead, I'll wait

Sharon: ...

Sharon: ...

Sharon: Seventeen million to one?

Bobbi: Once you factor in all the environmental, social and personal variables

Sharon: ...

Sharon: We will never speak of this again


End file.
